News of Paul Temple. Francis DurbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
hour later two men knocked cautiously at the door of Mrs Moffat’s shop. They seemed reluctant to be seen, but they need not have feared, for practically every person in that tiny hamlet was in bed, though it was little after nine. There was a sound of bolts being withdrawn, and Mrs Moffat eventually peered through the few inches between door and lintel. When she recognised them she opened the door swiftly, and they went inside.
‘What happened?’ she demanded quickly, setting the flickering candle on the counter and facing them.
‘We missed him,’ growled van Draper.
Mrs Moffat eyed them suspiciously.
‘It’s no good hiding things, Draper,’ said Guest. ‘She’ll have to know sooner or later.’
‘Something went wrong?’ speculated Mrs Moffat, leaning an elbow on the counter.
Guest nodded. ‘We stopped the car and dished out a cock and bull story about Lindsay being out of his mind. They seemed to swallow it all right, but…’
He took the packet of postcards from his pocket.
‘Instead of handing over the letter, he presented us with these damn things!’
Mrs Moffat recognised the envelope with a grim smile. Taking out the postcards, she carefully replaced them on the stand.
‘That was canny of ye both, I must say,’ was her only comment.
‘We can’t stand here all night,’ snorted van Draper impatiently. ‘Let’s go upstairs.’
But Mrs Moffat did not offer to move.
‘Why are ye both so anxious to get that letter?’ she persisted. ‘What was in it?’
‘I’ve had my suspicions about Lindsay for a long time,’ said van Draper. ‘Tonight they were—’
‘My God!’ cried Mrs Moffat suddenly, her face grotesquely distorted by the guttering candlelight. ‘Ye don’t mean to say he’s—’
‘His name is Hammond – Noel Hammond,’ replied van Draper with savage deliberation. ‘He’s a British Agent. We ought to have checked up on him long ago, instead of accepting one person’s word.’
‘But Z.2 recommended him,’ insisted Mrs Moffat. ‘She swore he was safe.’
‘The little fool was taken in by him,’ said Guest contemptuously.
‘Z.2. That’s Iris Archer, isn’t it?’ queried van Draper thoughtfully. ‘She’s always liable to fall for that type. That’s her one weakness. We should have realised that.’
Mrs Moffat set her lips in a firm line of disapproval. ‘You have always said that Lindsay was a good man at his job,’ she reminded them.
‘Hardwick always said so,’ van Draper agreed. ‘Though just lately they don’t seem to have been hitting it off too well.’
‘Well, whatever happens, we’ve got to get Lindsay,’ declared Guest in ruthless tones.
‘That’s imperative,’ said van Draper.
‘Why is it so imperative?’ Mrs Moffat wanted to know.
‘Why?’ spluttered van Draper impatiently. ‘Good God, woman, don’t you realise that Lindsay can blow up the whole bag of tricks? He’s been working with Hardwick on the screen…he knows about us – about Z.4—’
‘About Z.4?’ put in Mrs Moffat rapidly. ‘What exactly does he know about Z.4?’
‘He knows that Z.4 is behind Hardwick,’ said van Draper slowly. ‘Also that Z.4 is at the head of the greatest espionage organisation in Europe.’
‘But does he know who Z.4 is?’ pursued Mrs Moffat.
Guest shrugged his shoulders. ‘Do any of us?’
‘That’s not the point,’ van Draper cut in. ‘Lindsay or Hammond, whichever you like to call him, knows a great deal too much. There’s Hardwick to start with…’
‘And don’t you think the British Intelligence people know about Hardwick?’ suggested Mrs Moffat.
‘Of course they do,’ retorted van Draper. ‘But fortunately for us they don’t attach any importance to him – yet.’
‘And after receiving Hammond’s letter they might?’
‘Precisely.’
‘I wonder who this man…Richmond is?’ speculated Guest.
‘I don’t know – but if he’s got that letter we’ve got to get him before he leaves.’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised if Lindsay hasn’t seen Richmond himself,’ theorised Mrs Moffat.
‘No,’ interrupted van Draper. ‘Lindsay would keep clear of the village. I’m sure of that. He’d reckon on us keeping an eye on the “Royal Gate” – that’s why he didn’t ask our friend for a lift.’
‘You know, I’ve got a hunch that Lindsay might return,’ said Guest thoughtfully.
‘You mean—here?’ queried Mrs Moffat, rather taken aback.
‘Yes, here.’
‘Why should he?’
‘Well, in the first place,’ Guest elaborated, ‘he doesn’t suspect that you happen to be one of us, and he’ll probably be anxious to try and contact Richmond by telephone.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the telephone rang.
‘I have it switched through upstairs,’ explained Mrs Moffat succinctly. ‘We’d all better go up.’
She picked up the candle and led the way towards the crude staircase, and they gingerly climbed up to the top landing. The telephone rang again, louder now, and Mrs Moffat opened the door of a small room which was built in the roof of the cottage. Roughly furnished with a divan, a table and two or three chairs, it was lighted by a small dormer window in the daytime.
Mrs Moffat picked up the telephone, which stood on the floor at the side of the divan.
‘Hello?…Yes…When did you arrive?…When?…I see.’ She covered the mouthpiece for a moment and whispered to the two men: ‘It’s Z.2.’
‘Yes, I’m listening,’ she spoke into the instrument again. ‘Who?’ Her face became noticeably alert, even in that dim light. ‘…Paul Temple?’ she repeated somewhat incredulously. ‘What’s he like?…Yes, describe him quickly…yes—’
‘Ask her to come down here,’ broke in van Draper urgently. ‘She might know something about Richmond.’
Mrs Moffat nodded.
‘We want to see you…yes, straight away. Get here as soon as you can.’ She replaced the receiver.
‘So that was Z.2,’ murmured Guest thoughtfully. ‘I rather thought she was out of things.’
‘We needed her on this job. Z.4 ordered her up here,’ said van Draper.
Mrs Moffat was busy lighting a rather smoky oil lamp. When she had it working to her satisfaction she turned and asked them: ‘Do ye know who the gentleman was who handed ye the postcards?’
‘Not the faintest idea,’ snapped van Draper. He thought he saw a gleam of amusement in her cold eyes. ‘Who was it?’ he demanded suspiciously.
‘Paul Temple,’ replied Mrs Moffat simply.
‘Phew! Paul Temple!’ whistled Guest. ‘My God, if Temple’s on this job we can expect fireworks.’
‘What the devil is Paul Temple doing here?’ demanded van Draper fiercely.
Mrs Moffat gave the merest lift of the shoulders, but did not